


My Heart Opens To Your Voice

by thecolorofstars



Category: SCP Foundation, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Psychological Torture, Suicide Attempt, Tags Sound Worse Than They Are, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecolorofstars/pseuds/thecolorofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love means nothing to those who rank above him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the Radio

**Author's Note:**

> I've been terrible at updating my fics in the past, so I'm going to try something new with this one. There will be a new chapter every Thursday. Also, though the SCP Foundation is heavily referenced in this fic, you should be able to read it with just a basic understanding of what the Foundation is. [A short explanation can be found here,](http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/sites/scp-foundation) but there's a little bit of information in the second chapter as well.
> 
> There are numerous warning tags on this fic, but some are more prominent than others. Chapters that may be trigger-heavy will be clearly labeled in the notes. If you catch something that is not tagged, please tell me and I'll fix it right away. I hope that you enjoy!

Somehow, that day felt no different from the others. Carlos woke to a screaming phone and a sigh slipped from his lips as his feet met the stained carpet of his apartment. The water in his shower was pleasantly cool against the rising desert heat, especially with only a single air conditioner to cool the entire apartment, but his flannel shirt was clinging to his sweaty sides long before he finished breakfast. His team had all arrived by the time he climbed down the steps. Everyone bonded over the temperature and donned white coats so they could begin their work. Within minutes, the counters were covered with rock samples and lab reports, as well as makeshift writing utensils. He admired the use of paints, but was partial to green food coloring. Someone clicked the radio on, but there was only music playing.

Carlos chuckled with him. Carlos carefully avoided becoming too personal with him. To those who asked why, he explained that he wasn't looking for a relationship. They nodded with understanding. Most of them remembered the recent breakup and agreed that it might be too soon.

That was part of it, of course, but Cecil scared Carlos. He scared Carlos in the most wonderful way. What if the radio host was joking? What if he wasn't? He couldn't be sure, but Cecil's voice was the one to lull him to sleep amidst the howling of the night. Despite his better judgement, he began to grow attached to the voice on the radio. The man behind it became a comfort and even a friend. Each call was preceded by a short disclaimer, but by the seventh call that month it was merely a formality. Carlos knew Cecil could tell from the smile in his voice, if there was such a thing.

At that point, all that kept him from giving in to Cecil’s shameless prodding was his job. He had risen to a fairly high rank, but his superiors would still not be happy to hear about a relationship between him and a resident of the town. In his fantasies, Carlos imagined Cecil sweeping him up in a safe embrace and holding out all of the monsters that he’d seen. Sometimes he wondered what they could actually do to him if he gave in to his temptation. Most times he didn’t dare to consider it. Night Vale’s citizens might not be very happy with it anyway.

So yes, there was now a hope. A desperate, hidden hope that the sweet, forbidden voice would be flowing through the speakers when the radio turned on. Sometimes Cecil was in the studio to do the quick lunchtime report, but more often than not an intern filled in. Carlos would wait impatiently, drowning himself in his science until the show began. That was, as always, his plan. It worked well until what he estimated to be about six in the evening, nevermind that the sun hadn't quite risen all the way. It was then that Camilla dashed into the lab.

"Carlos," she gasped out. "There's something happening at the bowling alley."

Carlos sighed and slid his phone into his pocket. There was always something in Night Vale. Sometimes he wondered what they did before his team arrived. Judging by their casual views on death, it probably wasn't much. As he strolled into the bowling alley, lab coat flapping behind him, Cecil's voice began to narrate from one of the ever-present radios.

That was just another odd thing about the broadcasts. Sometimes he reported recent events, but Cecil had the unique ability to report things right as they were happening. He pushed the noise of the radio from his mind and strode over to the gathered militia. The whole situation echoed a sort of insanity that was hard to shake, but he tried to remain non judgmental. He tried so hard. They parted eagerly, greeting him with nervous smiles and tense shoulders. His coat, which he had forgotten all about, was quickly discarded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of them stroke it reverently.

Carlos crept closer, slowly muttering words that Cecil echoed back moments later. He stepped carefully in the gutters to avoid the slick floor and approached the faint shouting at the end of the lane. When he finally he reached the end, he glanced into the immense underground city. Once again, science began to laugh in his face. There wasn't supposed to be an enormous cavern down there. Papers at the lab confirmed that in exasperated scratches of paint and food coloring. A thought occurred to him, something he saw on a late-night science show years ago. The climb down only took a few seconds. Ten feet. For a year they had been watching out for an enormous, distant city that was really ten feet below them. The tallest spires reached his knees. His sense of pride was washed out entirely by how stupid the whole situation was.

Not two seconds after he declared the city safe, a sharp pain flared in his leg. Burning arrows began to appear in the skin left exposed by his shorts. At first they were simply a painful annoyance, but then small missiles began to smash against his chest. His only thought as he stumbled against the sudden attack was, _"yeah, it would be something like this."_

Small hands pulled his arms down and he found that they were stronger than he had anticipated. Bombs and grenades tore holes in his skin. Small knives shredded at his wrists and neck. Even though their goal was to kill him, he had to give them some credit for locating his major arteries. Struggling, which was futile to start with, became nearly impossible. Cecil's voice cried out from the radio. Death became not only a probability, but a promise. It was a peace that he had never felt before to know that everything was going to end. Blood flowed from him heavily now, soaking his shirt.

Later, he would hear about the brave Apache Tracker pulling him to safety. When Cecil asked what he remembered, he would shrug and tell him that it was all hazy. That was a lie. He’d rather wish the memories away than admit how easily he’d given up. It had been one year in a strange place that shook the very foundations of the universe to rubble. Even if he could walk away, things would never be the same again. In the dark of the night and in the corners of his eyes, he would fear the daily unknown that he had never noticed before. A man with violet eyes and blond hair would haunt his dreams and he would never forget, no matter how many amnesiacs they pumped into him. With that in mind, he had decided that it would be okay if he died right then. When they cut at his skin, he didn’t try to lift his arm. If that man hadn’t dragged him away from his death, his world would have ended in that bowling alley. That would have been fine with him.

Carlos didn’t think himself to be unreasonable. Afterwards, he found the idea repulsive. The very thought of such hopelessness left him gagging over the toilet in the early hours of the morning. He was understandably ashamed of himself and would give anything to hide that truth from Cecil. Not only did he remember that, but he remembered Cecil’s cries. Interns and neighbors disappeared daily, but never before had Cecil shed a tear on the air.

As soon as he was bandaged enough to keep his blood on the inside, his car screeched out of the parking lot. He belatedly remembered that his coat was back at the bowling alley, but there was a spare shirt in the trunk and he was content to slip it on as he tapped out a message on his phone. Adrenaline was still burning in his veins and he was going to do this despite every ounce of reasonable thought that was swimming in his head.

“What is it?” Cecil asked a few minutes later, jogging from his own car to join Carlos. “What danger are we in? What mystery needs to be explored?”

He was struck by the eagerness in those red-rimmed eyes and the pure joy in his smile. Whatever Carlos wanted, this mysterious man was ready to throw himself at it. Cecil had been given a second chance to see the man he cared about, the one he swore that he loved, and he wasn’t going to miss out on anything. It threw his thoughts into line again. Carlos shook his head and chuckled softly.

“It’s nothing. After everything that happened... I just really wanted to see you.”

“Oh?” Cecil squeaked out and his face lit up with hope and an innocence that Carlos hadn’t known since his young years.

He told Cecil about the clocks and the movement of time. The radio host listened closely to mutterings about purity and misconception and he appeared to absorb every word into the very core of his being. For the first time, he saw what a phone call could never show him. Violet eyes, blond hair, and impossible abilities were nothing against the true perfection of this man. A word like that was wasted on himself, but Cecil was its definition.

They managed to remain there, hand on knee and head on shoulder, for much longer than the weather should have allowed. Carlos didn’t pay attention to it. He just felt the fabric of Cecil’s pants under his thumb and enjoyed the feeling of a head on his shoulder.

Their first date was a nightmare by any other standards, but Cecil sounded so excited on the radio that he had to label it a success in the end. He blushed as his coworkers laughed, shouting questions over the radio. They did indeed run tests on trees. Yes, he had noticed Cecil touch his face. No, he hadn’t invited Cecil in. The kiss had been just fine. More than fine. Very nice, actually, and he would be happy to do it again.

After that, things got easier. Sometimes they bickered or disagreed, but Carlos was determined to make this work until it couldn’t possibly work anymore. Cecil marveled at his mother’s recipes and cooked some slightly more questionable things. They were delicious without exception and he reluctantly allowed fish eyes and cat hearts to become a normal ingredient. In just a few months, the apartment above the lab was only a formality. Cecil preferred to drag him into bed before he left. He didn’t protest very much after the first few nights.

Throughout this, he heard only murmurs of concern from his team. They all knew that the bosses were aware of the situation. Everyone involved in their project heard the radio broadcasts. Even so, nobody had heard anything about consequences. On better days, Carlos ignored the possibility of later trouble and hid away with Cecil. Most days left him with the bitter taste of lies through omission in his mouth. Some days he felt so terrified that he could barely pry himself away from his work, as if that would help them somehow.

Three months passed like that. They arrived home after their date, celebratory smiles widening into yawns with the weight of a long day. Normally they would stumble into bed and make out like teenagers, but both were too exhausted. At the exact moment that the rise and fall of Cecil’s chest grew even beneath Carlos’s hand, a soft buzzing called from his bag. He caught it on the third ring, voice croaking as he greeted the caller.

“Hello, may I ask who is calling?”

“Hello, Dr. Arenas.”

Eyes widening, Carlos stumbled from the room. This was one call that Cecil could not wake up for. He leaned against the kitchen counter and swallowed the bile that was fighting its way into his throat.

“Hello, Dr. Moore. How may I help you?”

“Before I begin, I need to communicate something to you,” she said coldly, ignoring his question. “You will not be punished for your recent relationship with one of the residents. Though we are confident that you understood what you were doing, we believe that nothing will be gained through excessive punishment. We believe that your next orders will be punishment enough.”

It didn't take an imagination to know what she was about to demand. 

“No."

“Yes, actually,” she smirked.

“Please, punish me,” he begged softly “Just leave him alone.”

She chuckled dryly.

“No.”


	2. In the Blink of an Eye

His orders were simple. Arrive in Mission Grove Park in ten minutes or less with Cecil in tow, or someone else would. This other person would care far less about Cecil’s comfort and would be carrying two syringes instead of one. It was a selfish decision and Carlos accepted the blame, but he couldn’t stand the thought of waking up in a room with no idea who Cecil Palmer was, of letting them take him away however they pleased. So after debating waking Cecil and fleeing the town, which would not even begin to work, he silently vowed to bring the whole foundation to its knees and crept back into the bedroom, pulling some clothes on over his boxers.

“Cecil, you need to wake up,” he whispered as he pushed at his boyfriend’s shoulder gently. “Por favor, Cecil.”

Though his eyelids fluttered, Cecil did not open them. Carlos sighed heavily, glancing at the time on his phone. Eight minutes.

“Dulcito, I’m sorry,” he said and shook Cecil until his eyes snapped open.

Carlos found his arm twisted behind his back instantly. Both of them were frozen in the position and more than slightly confused. When Cecil finally relaxed and stroked his arm in an apology, Carlos realized that it must be an instinct. It would make sense in a place like this. Lips met the back of his neck and murmured questions. Instead of answers, he gave him clothes. There was no argument.

“Is something wrong?” Cecil asked simply.

“No,” Carlos lied. “I just felt like going on a walk and thought that it would be safer with two of us. I’m sorry about that, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay, I didn't mean to hurt your arm,” Cecil said with a smile and took the clothes.

They exited the apartment complex with five minutes to go. One of Carlos’s hands clung tightly onto Cecil’s and the other concealed a small syringe. Neither one spoke, but that was worse in a way. He should have been talking and telling Cecil everything. How sorry he was for following their stupid orders. How much he didn’t want this at all. Then they were already in the park and Carlos guessed that there were just over two minutes to go. His footsteps slowed in the middle of a clearing. While Cecil paused and walked back to him, Carlos just stared up at the sky. Partly stars, mostly void. It was beautiful in a way that felt like it would swallow him whole.

“I love you,” Carlos said, looking back to Cecil.

“Really?” Cecil beamed.

“Yes, really,” he nodded and brushed Cecil’s cheek with his spare hand. “No matter what happens, I will always love you. You’re the most important thing in the world to me, dulcito.”

Before Cecil could respond, Carlos pressed their lips together. That was all the response they needed. In the distance, helicopter blades whirred. A hand came to rest on his face. Their kiss was full of a desperation that Carlos knew Cecil could only feel on the edges of his heart, but the tranquilizer was still too heavy in his hand. Only when the needle slid into Cecil’s neck did they break apart. Confusion and disbelief battled on Cecil’s face as Carlos guided him to the ground carefully.

“What...” he began, but his mouth stopped complying.

“Lo siento, mi dulcito,” Carlos murmured into Cecil’s ear, his thumb tracing over his love’s cheek.

Above them, the helicopter began to descend. By the time that they landed, his love’s eyes were closed once more. If he had never come to Night Vale, Cecil would still be sleeping this soundly in his own bed. When they began to carry the stretcher back to the helicopter, he could only follow numbly.

\---

Cecil woke slowly. His head was full of storm clouds and concrete dragged his limbs down. This was not a new feeling to him. With a practiced calm, he wiggled his fingers and pulled his dearest memories to the surface. If they were gone he would never miss them, but it was nice to pretend. He took his time with remembering how to move and think. An arm moved and he remembered his mother covering the mirror in the bathroom. When his feet could shift, a memory floated through of the first time that he met Carlos. His head rolled to the side and he thought about their first date. It was a trainwreck that ended in a kiss and they only got better from there. There were no gaps that he could find, but something newer fell just out of his reach.

Before he could so much as twitch his eyelids, the image came rushing back. It was Carlos kissing him with a tension that didn’t belong. There was passion, yes, and love, as always, but fear tainted everything with a bitter taste. Once he started to remember he couldn't find a way to stop. A sharp pain stung his neck, followed by an uncomfortable numbness. Carlos stood over him with a tear in his eye and needle in his hand.

Cecil groaned, forcing his eyes to open and turning his head away from the lights on the ceiling. The room reminded him of reeducation, but lacked the chair that would have held him down. The metal shelf he found himself on was hard and cold. A light blanket was folded at his feet and a pillow was under his head, though it was hardly more than a piece of paper. White walls were blank with the exception of a large mirror across from him.

His limbs were still numb as he stumbled off of what was supposed to be his bed. Within moment, the blanket was thrown against the mirror. The corners allowed just enough space for him to tuck the thin cloth in. Once he was safe, he retreated to the cold metal. Instead of climbing back onto it, he crouched under and curled against the wall. Even the Sheriff’s Secret Police knew enough to keep the mirrors away from him. Wherever Carlos had taken him was not a friendly place. He looked up only when he heard a lock click.

“Come on out,” a soft voice called. “My name is Dr. Moore. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The gun in her hand told a different story.

“It’s only a tranquilizer gun, and I doubt I’ll have to use it. You’re a really nice guy, but they’ve got their rules, you know?”

Her chuckle was too friendly. Cecil remained tucked away, panic rising in his throat like it hadn’t since Carlos was attacked. Only moments later, a small woman crouched in front of him. Her long hair was pulled into a bun and her dark eyes were kind. In fact, she almost looked sympathetic. She wore a simple black uniform with a strange white symbol embroidered on the front. The gun was far too close for comfort.

“If you stop hiding I’ll try to answer some of your questions,” she offered with a small smile.

Reluctantly, he slid out from under the bed. When he was curled against the wall, he looked up to her. The gun was now in a holster on her hip and his shoulders relaxed slightly. There was still a slight upturn to her lips as she waited to complete her side of the deal.

“Where am I?” he asked softly, voice catching itself.

“I’m sorry,” she replied with a momentary frown. “That’s classified.”

“Okay, then who is holding me here and when can I go home?” he tried again.

“That one I can answer,” she smiled wider. “You’re currently in the custody of the SCP foundation. Our goal is to contain and research anomalous things that pose a threat to the rest of the world. Unfortunately, we aren’t sure when you’re going to be released. Right now you are needed here for observation and testing.”

“Why me?”

“Your city is one of the locations that we’re researching,” she explained.

“Oh, of course.”

They fell silent for a moment while he tried to process what she told him. After a few seconds, he finally asked the question that had been on his tongue since the first moment, “Is Carlos okay?”

“He’s just fine. It wouldn’t do us much good to go and get him hurt,” she assured him with a chuckle. “He’s an important part of our research team.”

“Part of your team?” Cecil echoed numbly.

“Yes, he’s been been working from inside of the perimeter to gather samples and make observations. Did he never tell you that?”

“No,” his voice shook.

“I’m sorry, I thought he would have.”

Even her surprise was polite and quiet, bringing Cecil doubts. Had Carlos mentioned this? Maybe he had been too concerned with running his hands through his scientist’s hair at the time. Carlos would have mentioned this. He would have made sure that Cecil knew. Or would he have kept quiet about it instead? Did Carlos really trust him? What if… what if Carlos was just _observing_ him? Was their whole relationship just the result of a truly dedicated scientist who needed to find a way to lure him in?

“I want to see to him,” Cecil said, looking up at her.

“That’s not a possibility right now,” she shook her head. “Even though he’s not in your town right now, he’s still very busy.”

“He’ll make time,” Cecil said slowly from behind clenched teeth.

“You might be able to see him for a moment or two during the tests,” she told him. “Someone will bring you food in a few minutes. Make sure to get some rest after you eat; we will be starting tomorrow.”

As she turned to leave, she pulled the blanket down from the wall, exposing the mirror. The heavy metal door was locked when he tried to open it. He decided that his gut was right. No matter how soft Dr. Moore appeared, she was a dangerous person and couldn’t be trusted. A tray slid through a slot in the door, but he ignored it in favor of covering up the mirror again. Though his stomach clenched with hunger, he wasn’t desperate enough to eat anything from them. Instead, he hid under the metal bunk once more and leaned back against the wall with closed eyes.

On the other side of the mirror, Carlos sat in the chair with his eyes closed and his hand pressing the headphones closer to his ear. Nobody had believed him when he said observation through a two-way mirror wouldn’t work. They had all panicked when he threw the blanket over it, fearing what they couldn’t see him doing. Dr. Moore had volunteered to enter. Everyone agreed on the grounds that she was the prettiest person in the room, which seemed to score points with Cecil. Carlos didn’t bother reminding them that Cecil didn’t care for women. At the very least it would get the poor radio host some answers.

He didn’t anticipate being the third thing that Cecil asked about.

As Dr. Moore so carelessly trampled everything that he had been planning to explain in person, all he could do was shut his eyes. There had been a plan. He would tell Cecil everything between apologies and kisses. If he could only have a few minutes, everything would be okay. It wasn’t, though. The confusion in his voice was clear to anyone who knew Cecil beyond a number. Cecil asked for him and his heart ripped.

“Dr. Arenas,” one of his coworkers called, jolting him out of his daze.

“Sorry,” he said unapologetically.

“You should grab some dinner and head to bed,” they suggested. “Testing starts bright and early tomorrow morning.” 

Nobody called him back when he passed the cafeteria. There was no sympathy for him in the blindly loyal ranks, but they understood mourning when they saw it. He paused at the fork in the hallway, glancing to his left. If he walked in he could probably knock out one of the guards and take their gun before the other could stop him. No guard assigned to someone like Cecil would value their job enough to take on a desperate scientist. It was a slim chance, but he and Cecil might be able to escape the building before anyone could catch them.

Swallowing his tears, Carlos turned to the right instead. He wasn’t that stupid. Even if they made it out of the building, the guards on the outside would riddle them with bullets before they could scream. That would be preferable to escape. Cecil would be torn away from the only place that he had ever known and thrown into a world that would never make sense to him. They would be on the run for the rest of their lives, never free from the pursuit of the Foundation. It was better to hope that they would release Cecil quickly. As far as Carlos knew, he was still classified as Safe. Someone as harmless as Cecil would be allowed to rejoin his town quickly.

The thought did nothing to stop the tears from wetting his pillow into the early hours of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope that you enjoyed it! Please feel free to comment, I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback. Nadiya and Eli were my betas again this week. I hope to see you all next Thursday!


	3. How Much Blood?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a few liberties with how the Foundation conducts their research. Everyone seems to have a different idea, so this is just what feels right to me. If I've messed up big time on something, please tell me!

Cecil’s eyes opened to find thick black boots in front of him. As he moved, his back cracked and muscles in his neck pulled taut, reminding him that he was no longer accustomed to sleeping crouched under tables and inside closets. Dr. Moore crouched down to greet him with a too-wide smile. The tranquilizer gun was clipped to her side instead of resting in her hand, but he still watched her with a wary eye. Nobody with a grin that false could be trusted.

“Good morning, Cecil.”

He kept his lips sealed, eyes narrowing. She didn’t try to continue conversation. A tray of food appeared, but he made a motion of dismissal. One of the first things that you learned as a child in Night Vale was that the government cared. Though not everyone was technically a human, the officials could be trusted to treat them as such. Good people, after all, wouldn’t feed their citizens slop on trays.

“Please eat a little bit,” she urged.

He repeated his previous motion sharply and pushed the tray back towards her. With a sigh, she nodded. Hadn’t she said that Carlos was working with them? They’d talked late into the nights about Night Vale. Especially after a particularly daring show, Carlos would ask him all about reeducation. Despite memory loss, he had managed to paint a fairly complete picture of how being in the custody of Night Vale’s government worked. Carlos should have told them. Then at least he would know if he could trust them.

“I’m so sorry, but need you to come out from under there. It’s time for a few tests,” she said, backing away.

“What are the tests?” Cecil asked and winced at the scratchiness of his voice. Had he been yelling?

“They don’t tell me that much. That isn’t part of my job.”

He nodded numbly and slid himself forward to avoid the metal overhang. If she wouldn’t be involved, then he could survive whatever was in store. Cecil clung to the hope that Carlos would be waiting for him. For that, the horrors would be worth it. Dr. Moore left him at the door with a regretful glance, but there was enough going on that he barely noticed. The guards were stealing his attention with handcuffs and a blindfold. Panic stirred in him as his sight was taken away, but Cecil forced it out of his mind. He could cower in the face of the unknown as he used to when he was a kid or face it with his head held high. This was no worse than what he lived his life in. If he could shrug at the sudden appearance of a deadly forest, then he could pretend that everything was fine. As they shoved him down the hallways he kept his shoulders back and his chin up.

They arrived at their destination after navigating twisting halls for longer than was probably necessary. It wouldn’t be the first time someone dragged him around a whole building just to move him one room over. His cuffs were unhooked momentarily, but just as a flutter of hope rose in his chest, more cold metal wrapped around his wrists. Similar restraints were locked around his ankles once he sat in the chair. When the rough cloth covering his eyes was removed, he found himself in a room made of stainless steel and glass.

"Hello," a man spoke, stepping in front of him. "My name is Dr. Easton."

Wrinkles and frown lines cut deep into his face. Scars were scattered across his skin, speaking volumes of a lifetime in a dangerous profession. He and his younger assistants all wore the same dark uniform, as was to be expected, but they were covered by white lab coats that brought a pain to the back of his throat.

“We’re going going to get some samples and other data before the testing begins. It won’t take long,” he explained curtly.

The things that Dr. Easton called out to his assistants meant nothing to him. All that Cecil cared about were the lights pointed into his eyes and the feeling of latex gloves against his skin. They swabbed the inside of his cheek and took strands of hair. As it always had back home, panic threatened to rise whenever his wrists brushed against their restraints. No matter how often it happened, Cecil never got used to being unable to move, especially as bits of him were being taken away. This was what he was expecting when he woke up. A chair and cold metal with no chance of escaping. He closed his eyes, attempting to push them all out of his mind.

“We’re almost done,” a familiar, accented voice informed him quickly, pulling him out of his daze. “The blood sample is the last one. Is that okay?”

The world froze around him and his eyes flew open. A scientist stood in front of him in the same uniform as the rest holding a syringe that Cecil knew was bound for his arm. If nobody had disturbed him, he could have lived on in relative peace knowing only that someone rude had jabbed a needle under his skin and pulled out an unspecified amount of blood. Eventually, it would have faded from his memory altogether. Of course, Carlos would never take a sample without permission, not from him. His nod was slow and unsure.

“Relax your arm,” Carlos instructed, turning his wrist in the restraint and rubbing his forearm with a cotton swab.

He could only nod numbly, following Carlos’s gloved hands as they brought the needle to his arm. It slid under his skin with a prick of pain, but Cecil was too distracted to care. He'd somehow avoided thinking this through. There were only white coats and plaid shirts in his dreams and memories, so he hadn't even considered that he would find Carlos dressed in black. The scientist refused to meet his eyes. Far too soon, the needle slipped uncomfortably out of his arm and Carlos disappeared out of eyeshot once more. Cecil hoped that he hadn't imagined the way that his had lingered.

"Good," Dr. Easton noded, looking over his clipboard. "You're going to be moved to the location of the first test now."

\---

Carlos watched as the guards wrapped a blindfold back around Cecil’s eyes. There was no fight as they escorted him out. None of the workers around him watched the group exit and when he turned to them, they were chatting excitedly about new samples that didn’t involve any deaths or injuries. Everyone agreed that it was nice to finally not have someone’s blood on their hands over a few test tubes. A knife wrenched in Carlos’s gut. They were clean, but every drop was on him and there was enough to drown in. The weight of Cecil’s stare was gone, but he could still feel the shameful burn that it brought. He bore the pain silently against the cheers of his fellow scientists, though he would have loved to talk to someone about it. Only his team and a select few higher-ups were allowed to know about that little… incident.

They liked to pretend that it was an accident. That way they didn’t have to acknowledge how they failed to discipline him. He would never know who it was that took pity on him, but he owed them his life.

“Dr. Arenas?” Dr. Easton asked with a knowing glance.

“Yes, sir?” he replied, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Do you have the list of where these samples go?”

Carlos produced a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to the older man. Easton wasn’t the one to pull them out, but he never liked the relationship. If he’d had things his way, Carlos would have been relocated in the same moment that Cecil mentioned him. None of his superiors actually seemed to be the type to turn a blind eye. Whoever it had been probably wasn’t around anymore in one sense of the word or the other. It was no concern of his. He knew exactly who had put their foot down, though.

“Dr. Moore sent me for Dr. Arenas?” a young guard called into the lab.

A weary sigh escaped him. Of course she’d send someone at a time like this. He had to hand it to her, she knew how to manipulate people like no other. It was simple, classic conditioning. Present Carlos as a precursor to pain and suffering, only to show up and deliver a momentary pause in whatever he was enduring. Train his loved one to fear him. All that he could do was hope that it wouldn’t work and try not to shoot the messenger.

“Sylvia, right?” he asked, turning to face her with a tight smile.

“Yes, sir,” she nodded. “Dr. Moore wants you.”

“What does she want me for, Sylvia?”

“She wants you to help run the first test.”

Of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a bit shorter than usual, but I was having a hard time getting it to flow. Thank you for reading it! If you enjoyed it, which I hope that you did, please feel free to leave some feedback. I'd love to hear from you! Emily edited the whole thing this week!


	4. This Blood On My Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait and I hope that you enjoy!

Electricity hummed in the air, driving Cecil forward. The endless mazes had quickly taught him the importance of movement. Drab grey walls closed in on him as he ran with a desperate speed known only to fleeing prey. His chest was tight through the panic, refusing to pull in the air that he so desperately needed to round the next corner. It was good that breathing was usually voluntary. When he rounded the sharp turn, his step faltered. The grey wall loomed in front of him like a death sentence. Acid burned in his veins and froze his limbs. Before he could force them back into motion, a loud buzzer sounded. The shock came only a fraction of a second later. Breathless and dizzy, Cecil stumbled backwards and carried on down another hall of the maze. Finally, the exit came into view.

\---

Carlos watched from behind the screen of the security cameras, scribbling down whatever numbers the scientist across the room called out. 

"He’s got to be done soon. His oxygen levels are insanely low," she observed with a nervous frown. "By these numbers, he should be long dead."

"Should we pause the next test maze?" Carlos asked with an even tone, still writing observations on Cecil's panicked sprinting with an honest-to-god pen.

"No, keep pushing it. I want to see when it breaks."

Nobody in the room chose to acknowledge the glare that Carlos shot at her. He had said those words to himself before, but that was in dark rooms with far fewer clothes. One observation held steady through every test: Cecil didn't like to break.

"Dr. Moore, I'm not sure that's a good idea," he spoke in a measured tone. "His vitals are beyond dangerous. We don't know what will kill him."  
"I gave you my answer."

\---

Cecil burst through the black curtain and promptly fell against a wall, gasping for air. Another red curtain draped in front of him to signal the start of the next maze and he took the last of his strength to beg whatever being would listen to let this end.

"No more," he found himself gasping.

A buzzer sounded and the floor under his feet sparked against his bare feet. He shook his head and refused to move, bracing against the pain. They could run every volt they had through him and they still wouldn't get him to run. Air continued to evade his lungs and he began to sway. It only took a few minutes for his knees to buckle and send him tumbling to the floor. By the time that he hit, there was no shock. He wondered vaguely if they had turned it off, or if he was just too numb. Darkness flickered around the edges of his vision and he fell into its peace happily.

When light returned to Cecil's world, the sources was obscured by a dreadfully familiar face.

"Oh, good, you're awake," Dr. Moore smiled, almost looking genuinely relieved.

Glancing around, he found himself on the metal bunk in his... his room. It pained him to call it that. Cell was the right word. Reluctantly, he let her help him sit up. Her hands fell away when swung his legs off of the bed and stood, stumbling to the mirror. The blanket now wedged into the corners easily, covering the reflective surface. Moore's support returned when his knees buckled, bringing the full extent of his pain through the usual numbness.

"I'm so sorry. I tried to convince them to stop, but they wouldn't listen to me."

Cecil pushed her aside, gripping the metal and letting himself slide slowly to the ground. She continued to worry over him, even when he turned away under the bunk. Her false words only stopped when a low growl began to build in his throat.

"I'll tell them that you won't be testing today. Try to get some rest," she crooned.

The door slid closed and he sighed. Pain pulsed through him, bringing tears to his eyes. Muscles screamed and twitched. His feet throbbed with the heat of burns. Every movement pulled at the scabs that were scattered over his skin. _Pain_. A dry, humorless chuckle escaped cracked lips. Cecil hadn’t felt true pain in years.  
\---  
Carlos sighed heavily, returning to the samples again with a hidden sense of relief. Their test was stupid and cliched for a secretive group of scientists from a mysterious organization. Almost no useful data would be pulled from it, so it served one point and one point only: to find Cecil's breaking point. It had taken two days. He had been running nonstop, slowing occasionally before the electricity would push him back up to speed. The exhausted scientists were just as ready as Cecil was to see the trials end.

By the time that Dr. Moore returned to the lab, the change was complete. All of the softness that she emphasized with Cecil was long gone, replaced by a stern frown. It was hard for him to look at her and see anyone but a cold hearted beast, but he had to remind himself that she was only doing her job. They had to protect the outside world from the anomalies that would tear apart the very basis of their beliefs. If succeeding meant causing a single man pain, that was an acceptable trade to both her and the Foundation.

He couldn’t find it in his heart to agree anymore.

The security cameras showed Cecil curled under his bunk, eyes still wide in the darkened room. Across the lab, other scientists were watching the footage of the trials. Terrified gasps came from the speakers, assaulting Carlos’s ears as he distracted himself with samples that were shifting as he knew they would. 

“What is this?” she asked, breathing over his shoulder.

“Part of the blood sample from yesterday,” he said without looking at her. “It’s coagulating much faster than our human samples.”

“So are we changing his species classification?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” he shook his head quickly. “My apologies, Dr. Moore. I misspoke. All samples confirm him to be human.”

“If he is human, then why is his blood acting differently?”

“Well, I have a hypothesis about the citizens in Night Vale,” he began, but hesitated.

“Go on,” she prompted, waving a hand.

“I believe that Night Vale’s isolation from the outside world has cause the population to undergo a sort of allopatric speciation,” he admited.

Hypothesis was an understatement. Before he was with Cecil, he had spent much of his spare time looking at samples and gathering data from the town’s population. The vast majority of them were clearly human, but more testing revealed fairly uniform abnormalities. Their blood, like Cecil’s, could coagulate quickly to stop excessive bleeding. Things that would cut through his skin easily barely caused a scratch on them. Eyes could adjust to darkness far more quickly than they should have been able to, teeth and nails were stronger, and their senses were heightened. Even more importantly, they were all able to stand the various toxins that surrounded them constantly. As the tests continued, he began to realize that the citizens in the town had been bred to survive.

“So are we calling them a new subspecies, then?” she asked flatly.

Her question brought a pause. If the population of Night Vale was decided to be a subspecies, they would no longer be human in the eyes of the Foundation and its staff. The higher ups may avoid harsher testing and continue to recognize them as people with thoughts and feelings, but that chance was slim. Nobody wanted to admit how much they had blurred the line between human and animal. Testing would worse. Cecil would only be another sentient being to them. Just a number, not a name. Carlos was smart enough to know that, but he was also smart enough to see her challenge. If he said no, he would be denying them the truth in order to protect the residents. At that point, she would decide that he was emotionally compromised.

“Homo sapiens vallis?” he suggested softly.

Her lips tightened as she pondered the situation. Technically, she should require further testing and sample analysis before she even gave it a chance. This wouldn’t just be the reclassification of a single specimen, they would be creating an entirely new subspecies. Something lit in her eyes and turned Carlos’s stomach. He could that she had realized exactly what he had. Her delight was painful.

“Alright,” she smiled. “I’m putting you in charge of observing specimen 874-1, then. Your new orders will be delivered tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.

With that, he was left to his blood samples. Cecil's blood samples. The echo of his love's disbelieving stare burned his face and Carlos set the glass vial down. It wasn’t marked “Palmer, Cecil” like any other human’s sample would be, it simply read “874-1.” He announced a bathroom break, stripped his gloves off, and stepped out of the room. As he walked down the hall, he imagined what it would feel like to be carried blind and bound through the cold building. How would a needle in your arm feel if the one putting it there was someone you thought you could trust? Without a word, Carlos closed the stall door behind him.

He hadn’t even looked Cecil in the eye.

His stomach emptied violently, leaving him gasping against the toilet seat. He couldn’t tell if the tears were from the vomiting or his terrible, traitorous act. It only becomes clear when the sobs followed. That's when the thought took hold.

By the time that he returned to his work space, he had a new agenda. For the first time since stumbled into their employment, he has created it without the direction of overbearing police officers or a ominous employer. Though many things still had to be worked out - science is never straightforward and neither are plans - there was one thing that he knew to be true. There would be more pain before his work was complete. Everything else was still fluid to him. Finishing his plans could take a few days or a few months. It might work, but it might not. Even if they succeeded, Cecil could never want to see him again. That only mattered if Carlos made it out alive, which he couldn't be sure of either.

Both outcomes would be a kindness compared to what he deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed that! I value every bit of feedback that I get, so please feel free to comment! Emily was my editor and she deserves a huge round of applause.


	5. Necessity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Necessity is the mother of taking chances." -Mark Twain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I did not realize that Thanksgiving was on a Thursday. I promise you that this extremely late posting will not throw things off too much. Posting times will be a bit jumbled and random, but I have a schedule for these things and I will have the last chapter up before Christmas. It _will_ be a Thursday. I apologize for my terribly inconsistent timing and I hope that you enjoy.

It all happened in a single moment. In hindsight, the whole story is so cliched and obvious that he should have known from the beginning. A scientist and his specimen, the star-crossed lovers destined to be ripped away from each other by the evil employer that they both have to escape. No one chooses a cliched story for themselves, but this was the path he was set on now. His attempts to run from his inevitable ending can only bring exactly what he is avoiding.

He sighs inwardly before taking his cup of coffee and turning back to the rest of the break room. White coats are scattered around in chairs drinking the muddy water that they've filled with sugar and non-dairy creamer. There's a box of bagels on the table, but they remain untouched, just as they do every day. Listening to some poor man scream tends to kill the appetite. A month has passed since Cecil became the first official specimen of the new subspecies of the human race and everyone is about out of their minds.

At first it was good for all of them. Cecil wasn’t forced back into intensive testing, which allowed him to recover. After a few days he could be escorted to the examination room without extra guards to hold him up. The scientists appreciated the break as well and took advantage of their extra sleep time happily. Even Carlos found a silver lining. For a few minutes a day at the least, he was able to be with Cecil again. His hands could brush against those shaking palms or massage his wrists inside of their restraints. Nobody else noticed the soft, small touches, but Cecil looked down on him with softer eyes and that was worth the world.  
Then, as scientists do, they started asking bigger questions.

Painful questions.

How long could he survive without oxygen? What would happen if they filled a room with a small amount of oxygen and a large amount of other gasses? Toxic gasses? Can Cecil’s body be able to process small amounts of poison that would leave them twitching on the ground? Will electricity harm him like it would a human? Can he hear better? See better? Are his reflexes faster?

Science thrives on the answers.

Panic set in after thirty seconds. Cecil made no noise, but he twisted his wrists in their restraints and drew in sharp breaths. The data couldn’t be accurate without calm breathing, so they were forced to announce an early end to the test. Before Carlos could flick the switch to unseal the room, one of the others reached over and insisted that he wait. They had to be careful not to teach him that fighting would help. Only when he slumped in a half-conscious pile later did the air return.  
The second test went far better. He was strapped into a chair again, this time after Carlos explained the experiment and apologized for the previous trial. All of the scientists marveled at how Cecil relaxed into the metal and took steady breaths, glancing up every once in a while through the glass. If looks could kill, every scientist in the room would have been dead. Almost fifteen minutes later, Cecil lost consciousness.

The experiment was repeated a few more times to duplicate results and add in new variables. Gasses other than oxygen were pumped into the room and his times began to climb slightly. Twenty two minutes was the longest he could last, no matter what they tried. Dr. Moore made a show out of fighting with him and demanding that these tests be dropped.

“You’ve done this to him more than enough!” she argued. “There is no need to suffocate him again!”

As instructed, Carlos battled her for a few minutes before relenting. Only then did the guards drag the half-conscious Cecil back to his cell. Minutes later, he found himself on the floor of the bathroom again with the taste of vomit in his mouth. Their fight had been scripted from an earlier argument, one that Cecil would never hear. There was no choice, he could only trust that Cecil would figure out the truth on his own.

Experiments continued with climbing intensity, despite Carlos’s best efforts. As long as the results continued to follow, Dr. Moore would happily press into the unexplored ideas. New discoveries rolled in daily. Cecil could and would gladly eat many things that should have been toxic. This was not news to Carlos, so he slid his own observations from Night Vale into the discussions and reports. Big Rico’s menu became a running gag within the sleepless ranks of white coats, but behind Carlos’s laugh was a knowledge that none of them had. Something to keep to himself. Sure, pizza with mysterious purple slime on top sounds disgusting when you say it, but nobody does a slice like Big Rico.

No one.

The week before had been a little bit of a break to sleep and eat some decent food. Carlos was one of three people in the lab and he spent every moment he could with Cecil. They found out that there was no difference in Cecil’s hearing, but his his eyes adjusted quickly to darkness and he could see far better than the rest of them could with the lights off. His pupils could simply widen more than their own. It was was with a mutual laugh that they agreed that no testing was needed to notice that Cecil’s reaction time was faster than anyone else’s in the room.

“If you don’t learn to be faster than everyone else, you don’t survive,” Cecil rasped, shocking the scientists into silence.

It broke the dam.

“When do I get to go home?”

“Could I have some real food, please?"

“Are the tests over?”

“I need to talk with Dr. Arenas, please.”

Words were Cecil’s life and Carlos had learned to understand their intricacies over his time with the radio host. There was hardly ever a syllable that didn’t carry it’s own meaning. For well over a year, Carlos hadn’t been aware that Cecil even knew his last name. It was Carlos from the moment they met, even if they only spoke to discuss scientific news that the town should be aware of. Nobody else in the room would have understood.

“Dr. Arenas?” Carlos asked quietly, quirking a brow and glancing over to the other scientists, gauging their response.

“Yes, Dr. Arenas,” Cecil confirmed with a weak nod. “If you were Carlos, you would look me in the eyes.”

Five minutes later, after he excused himself to the bathroom, he lost the contents of his stomach to the guilt.

It was all necessary.

By the next morning, white coats filled the lab again. The days passed quickly and bagels went untouched on the table. Someone had electrical readings from a recent storm in the town that were far stronger than most, as many things are in Night Vale. Citizens had been going about their daily business when the storm hit and only took shelter after they looked up to see the churning sky. Their plan was to see if the citizens in the town would be able to handle electrical shocks that would harm or kill a normal human.

He couldn’t.

Carlos couldn’t sleep, ate nothing, and became well acquainted with the bathroom floor.

Now, standing in the break room on an empty stomach and twenty minutes of sleep on a bench that he only meant to sit on, he looks up at the room’s whiteboard. It is their boss as much as anyone else is. If there is a direction written on the board, it is as good as hearing it from the mouth of the higher ups. Carlos usually writes the day’s schedule on it before anyone else enters the room, but today there are two words written in large letters by Dr. Moore herself.

Mirror maze.

“Why did we build a whole maze of mirrors for this?” one of the younger scientists asks. “Couldn’t we have just set him in front of a mirror and watched him react?”

“We’ve done that. He hides from it,” another reminds him, elbowing him aside to reach the coffee.

Despite their best efforts, a blanket is constantly hiding the mirror in Cecil’s cell. The room behind it has become a station to monitor security cameras. They only took the blanket away once and Cecil spent the entire night curled into the corner. A mirror maze seems cruel in the face of an obvious phobia, but it isn’t his decision to make. Her authority trumps his and her only interest is in doing her job.

“Let’s get moving, everyone,” Carlos called out to the room. “Dr. Moore wants us ready in ten minutes, so we need to go down and get situated.”

Watching Cecil run a maze was one thing. There the floors had been electrified to keep him moving. He hadn’t realized that he was just running back and forth between two mazes because how would he, with the pressure of shocks against his feet and just enough light to keep him from running into the walls?

The mirrored maze is far harder. Cecil reaches up to pull his blindfold off and stumbles back in horror. Behind him is just another mirror. This Cecil is not the calm and collected host that Carlos has seen before. He stumbles between the mirrors, completely dazed and confused. His heart rate spikes. Within seconds, he is running blindly, crashing into mirrors that only throw him back. His panicked gasps dissolve into terrified sobs. When he his thrown to the ground by another collision, he curls in on himself and hides behind his own hands.

“Are his tattoos... _moving?_ ”

“I want to see those later.”

“Someone’s got a timer running, right? I want to know how long he stays like this.”

Carlos does and he counts the seconds carefully.

It’s necessary.

“Stop the test.”

The entire room, full of nervous excitement and the chatter that comes with it, falls silent. Dr. Moore looks at him in disbelief. They all do. Carlos has no authority to do this. All the same, he encounters no resistance when he stands.

“This test is over. You have his reaction,” he snaps. “He is to be taken to his cell immediately.”

Dr. Moore raises her hands, giving up all responsibility of the situation. Everything that he does is on his shoulders and nobody will be punished for following his orders. Guards pry Cecil from the floor of the maze and bind him again. They don’t have to carry him this time, he nearly runs ahead of them. Carlos follows them silently and ducks into the room behind the mirror. All of his instincts tell him to demand complete privacy, but he doesn’t need it. His superiors have already be notified, he is sure. Instead, he pushes past Dr. Moore and enters the cell.

“Cecil,” he calls out to the form that is hiding underneath the bunk. “Look at me, please.”

There is no response. He repeats himself slowly, gently. Cecil sobs softly and Carlos gives in, crossing the room and ducking under the bunk. Before he has even neared Cecil’s skin, he is flinching away from the scientist. Carlos’s heart sinks. No trust will ever be placed in that white coat again, but that’s okay. It’s his own fault. Instead of reaching for Cecil, he just sits next to him.

“I’m so sorry, Cecil,” he begins, knowing that this speech will take much more out of him than he has left. That isn’t enough, of course, but what else is he supposed to say? That he hates them? That he didn’t mean for it to turn out this way? That he loves him? It’s all true, but it doesn’t do either of them any good anymore. “I can only tell you that I’m sorry.”

“Liar,” Cecil mumbles, face hidden by his arm.

“What do you want to hear?” he asks, glancing over.

“That I get to go home.”

He sighs, “Of course you want to hear that. You’re going to, I swear on my life. Hopefully it won’t take too long now.”

Cecil doesn’t say a word.

“I do love you. I don’t want you in here and I never did. Giving you up to them was my punishment for being with you in the first place. It was going to happen whether I brought you to them or not, so I did. I’ve been planning your escape for about month now. Things like escape take a long time in such a high security prison.”

“Then I think you’ve messed something up because you’re preaching your plan.”

Even after everything and despite the fact that they’re hiding under a metal bunk in a cell, Cecil’s bitterness shocks him. For a split second he fears that Dr. Moore succeeded in conditioning him. All that he can do is push the thought aside.

“I know that I don’t deserve it, Cecil, but please trust me. I’m going to get you out of here even if it kills me.”

Violet eyes meet his sadly and it’s so obvious. Cecil has been betrayed and hurt so badly that nothing anyone tells him will convince him. He truly believes that he will die in this prison of pain and fear. Well, actions work better than words.

“Just try to remember that I love you and I’m doing everything that I can to get you out,” he says softly, then crawls out from under the bunk.

Dr. Moore is waiting for him outside of the door with handcuffs. A mere formality at this point, of course, but important nonetheless. The cell she leads him to is only different in that there is no mirror. He sits on the bed obediently, waiting for her to take the cuffs off before slumping back. She stands in front of him with arms crossed and eyebrows raised as if to ask him what he expected.

“There’s a plan in place for this, you know.”

“Yes, I’ve been made aware of the plan. I was aware of the consequences long before opened my mouth.”

A silence falls between them.

“I’m going to have to replace you.”

“I suggest Camilla. She showed a lot of promise.”

“Thank you, I’ll consider your input.”

Another silence.

“You know that I don’t like doing this, right?

“It’s your job. I understand.”

She sighs and shakes her head.

“I tried, okay? I knew what would happen and I had them give you a shot anyway.”

“I know. Thank you for that, by the way. I know that you don’t understand what I’m trying to do, but things changed. We watched them too close for too long.”

“Maybe I’ll understand someday.”

There’s another long stretch of silence before she wishes him a good final night and takes her leave. Carlos curls onto the cold metal and tries to close his eyes. It may be his last night in this plane of existence, but he might as well try to sleep. After all, what’s done is done and he doesn’t regret a single part of his plan.

It is all necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Feedback is always welcome, especially constructive criticism. I would love to hear your thoughts. Once again, Emily did the editing and I am grateful for her help.


	6. A Mirrored Image

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just now recovering from a nightmare of a cold, but we will still be right about on schedule somehow! I hope that you enjoy!

Tests have become routine. They are inevitably painful, but Cecil doesn’t have the energy to fight anymore. The more he battles to escape, the harder he falls into the chair. Everything was controlled carefully and they would make him try again if he didn’t stay calm. Rooms became airless, leaving him counting seconds and slowing his breaths. Electricity ran through him, first uncomfortable, and then painful, and then torturous. Sometimes they would stand over him and feed him things, both edible and toxic. Before he could tell them which was which, they began to force them down his throat.

At first he was everything that he knew to be. When they poked needles into his arms he let them do what they needed to. Sometimes they took so much blood that he began to feel light headed. Things got worse gradually. It was like setting a frog in a pot and slowly turning up the heat. It wasn’t until they began to strap wires to him that he realized how bad things were. Screams tore from his lungs and the tattoos on his skin screamed with him. They filled his head with terror and pulling to get free. The short bursts of electricity were never enough to put them out of their misery.

When they lead him blindly into another room, he slumps into their arms heavily. It doesn’t make a difference. The guards set him down and remove the cuffs quickly. Before he has a chance to react, a door closes behind him. He knows from past experience that there is no point in pushing against it. Once the blindfold is off, his eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the lighting.

They don’t have to adjust for him to know that he doesn’t want to be here.

“Someone's going to kill you one day, Cecil, and it will involve a mirror.”

His mother’s words run through his head, washing out all other thoughts. Ever since he was a child, a glance of his own reflection in the smooth surface of a mirror had haunted his nightmares. The face that looked back was always twisted by a memory that did not exist except for the vague feeling of absolute horror. Should the reflection succeed in reaching for him, through the dream and to his sleeping body, Cecil was sure that he would never wake up. All the same, it was not the reflection that scared him. It only became terrible on the face of amirror.

Now they all grin with their shark teeth with the knowledge that he cannot escape.

When he falls backwards, jolting away from the being in front of him, he runs into another. Its hands reach out to drag him in. The whisper of gnarled claws on his neck tells him just how close it came. They laugh together, tossing him between them and making jokes in liquid, gurgling words that drip from their blackened lips. Even as he dashes away, he knows that he is dead. Carlos has killed him.

The sobs tear at his chest with each breath. Carlos, the perfect scientist, with his perfect hair and perfect face, who strolled into town with his equipment and assistants so long ago. His smile had seemed so genuine, teeth like military gravestones. Words weren’t always reliable, he knew that better than anyone, but they felt true in the parking lot of Arby’s and only seemed more real as the months carried on. Cecil hates himself for not noticing somehow.

When one of those terrible doubles finally throws him to the ground, he tucks himself together like he did when Station Management crawled from their office. His arms tingle and he knows without looking that his tattoos are sliding across his skin, watching out for him when he can’t do it himself. They don’t heat up. Words float through his mind.

_You are safe._

For the first time since the first week they were together, Cecil does’t trusts the voices. Back then, they were only part of Station Management to him. All that they seemed to want was to make him lose his mind. Anyone, even a Voice, would be idiotic to live with such things crawling over them. It took weeks for them to win even a sliver of his trust. Now he isn’t sure that they’re seeing the right scene. The living tattoos have never actually lied, but their definition of safe seems to be dangerously different from his own.

_Trust us, Voice. Trust him._

By the time that they fight back his silent arguments, firm hands are around his arms again. Handcuffs follow, but he doesn’t have the energy to fight them. The guards drag him to his feet and he hurries out of the maze. Figures in the mirror will be laughing at him, reminding him that he still isn’t free and taunting him for it before returning to strike again when they have a chance. He keeps his eyes to the ground and refuses to give them the satisfaction.

His hands shake as they grip the metal of the bunk, holding him up as he crawls underneath. Even outside of the maze, his breath comes in short gasps. The arms around his chest are meant to hold him together, but he finds himself hiding in them instead. Tears wet the sleeves of clothes that aren’t his.

“Cecil, look at me. Please.”

Look at me, not at the script for the show. Edit it tomorrow. It can wait and I don’t want to. Look at me; I’m worried about you. Last night you said things that were supposed to be secret and if you have to leave for reeducation I want to know. Look at me; I want to know what you’re thinking. That smile could mean anything, but your eyes are honest enough to tell me. Look at me; you’re so cute when you’re shy. How can you say so much on the radio, but lose all of those words when we’re alone? Look at me; I love you. I will always love you. You’re the most important thing in the world to me, dulcito.

A sob escapes him before he can bite it back.

Cecil flinches away from his hand instinctively and instantly hates himself for it. He would give the world just to feel those rough fingers on his cheek again. Instead, Carlos ducks down and sits next to him. If his only purpose here is to give hollow apologies then Cecil will be glad to see him go. His own accusation is off of his lips before he cares to think about it.

“Liar.”

“What do you want to hear?” Carlos asks tiredly.

“That I get to go home.”

He isn’t thinking about it about it as he speaks, but he doesn’t say “we.” Does he want Carlos to come home with him? Will Carlos even want to? Are there any emotions behind that mask of indifference he wears with his uniform, or was it all just for his precious science? Every moment brings another stab of pain to his hammering heart, but is he missing the man who is sitting next to him, or the one he pretended to be? Beyond his questions, he can feel the plain truth. Carlos has no more power to free him than Cecil has to free himself. It doesn’t matter who the true Carlos is because he will never get outside to see it again. A deep sigh brings him back to the cell around him.

“Of course you want to hear that,” Carlos says softly. “You’re going to, I swear on my life. Hopefully it won’t take too long now.”

When Cecil stays silent, words gone in disbelief and distrust, he continues.

“I do love you.”

Is that true?

“I don’t want you in here and I never did.”

That can’t be right, Carlos is a scientist just like the rest of them.

“Giving you up to them was my punishment for being with you in the first place.”

Since when is a relationship cause for punishment?

“It was going to happen whether I brought you to them or not, so I did.”

Cecil isn’t listening now, still caught on the last few sentences. If they were true then this Carlos, the one who sticks needles into his arm and lets them run electricity through him until he screams, is fake. He would give his life to have that be the case.

“I’ve been planning your escape for about month now.”

He is paying attention again.

“Things like escape take a long time in such a high security prison,” Carlos explains.

Why would he talk about escape in a room where people could surely hear him? There would be no reason unless the promise of escape was meant only as a lie. Dr. Moore comes to mind with her manipulative smile and too-soft words.

“Then I think you’ve messed something up because you’re preaching your plan.”

The bitterness and anger in his voice surprises even himself. It has been worked into him now after mazes and tests. If you strap someone to a chair for long enough, if you take enough of their world away, the kindest soul can turn sour. He would almost find it humorous if Carlos hadn’t flinched away.

“I know that I don’t deserve it, Cecil, but please trust me.”

_Trust him._

“I’m going to get you out of here even if it kills me.”

Cecil finally looks up, meeting his eyes with tearful ones. Something clicks behind Carlos’s beautiful hazel, something important. It doesn’t matter enough for Cecil to ask. In fact, he doesn’t say a word. Carlos breaks the contact and moves out from under the bunk, but not before whispering one final sentence.

“Just try to remember that I love you and I’m doing everything that I can to get you out.”

A cry catches in his throat as Carlos leaves him again.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! If you were to leave feedback and constructive criticism, I would be forever grateful. Many thanks to [rosecat13](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecat13) for editing this chapter! Please take a moment to check out her beautiful works!


	7. The Rose of May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That, my friends, was an insanely long wait. I am beyond sorry. A lot of things happened, storms and final exams included, but I'm back and alive! In addition, we are almost done. Thank you for sticking this out with me!

When Cecil wakes again, there is only darkness. He did not try to sleep, but he knows he couldn’t have anyway. Carlos left him alone in that cold with an impossible promise on his lips, so how could he? It was the real Carlos, his Carlos. There are two, he decided that sometime during what must have been the night. One Carlos for sweet kisses and loving words, the one he longs for. The other is for sharp needles and cool commands, the one to be feared. No, he did not sleep. Still, somehow he has only just woken up.

He becomes aware that he is in motion only when he stops. Voices rise around him through the darkness in strained pitches. Before his mind can process the words, he is pushed forward again and floats across the ground. _You’re sitting, it’s a wheelchair,_ his brain supplies. Why would he be in one of those?

The haze drifts away far too slowly. His hands and feet won’t move on their own and even under what he now recognizes as cloth, he can barely hold his eyelids open. This is not waking up, this is surfacing. The feeling of drugs slowly fading and allowing your mind to work on its own again. When they lift him out of the chair and set him on the ground, he forces his closer to the edge of the feeling. Light explodes into his face without warning. When it fades to a reasonable level, he blinks to see a chillingly familiar grin.

“Rise and shine,” Dr. Moore coos, holding the bag that was covering his head. “We have a show for you.”

Metal cuffs are heavy around his wrists, pulling his tired body to the ground. At the other end of the chains is a thick silver pole, driven down too far into the concrete. The keys are clipped around his tormentor's belt, escape is, as always, impossible. Nothing good comes of a situation like this. Vague, half-forgotten scenes run through his mind. They can’t be placed, but he knows enough to call them re-education.

His surroundings do nothing to reassure him of the situation. There must be twenty people standing in the warehouse, staring ahead with a trained vacancy. Among the crowd of black-clad staff are chained men in orange jumpsuits like his own. They have passed him in the halls, snarling or staring down at their chains, but he has never truly shared a space with them. They are all much more menacing when he takes a closer look.

Those in black uniforms don’t look any more comforting than the others. He can only recognize one of them. It isn’t Carlos, who is nowhere to be seen, but she another familiar face in a lab coat. It only takes a few seconds to draw her name from his mind. Camilla. She had been Carlos’s right-hand girl in Night Vale, the one that he left everything to when he was busy doing field work or making dinner. He shakes his head softly and moves on.

In front of him is a second pole, identical to his own, trapping another prisoner. They are still, but sitting up and alert under the dark bag. Ice settles into his stomach. He was promised a show. Is this another prisoner who is being sentenced to the same trial? Or is the figure in front of him what he will be watching?

“Who?” he manages, his voice catching in his throat and forcing a cough.

Her smile is that of the devil.

“It’s amazing to think that he was blind to the possibility, especially since it was his idea,” Dr. Moore explains.

“Who is it?” he repeats as terror floods his veins.

“We’ve seen you in pain and we’ve seen you scared, but it is very hard to make you angry. Even Dr. Arenas wasn’t sure how to truly upset you.”

The ice reaches his lungs, leaving him gasping. Only one person in the room remains unidentified and Carlos, dear Carlos, who so stupidly announced his plans the night before, is still nowhere to be seen.

“You would be angry with us if he hurt him, yes?”

Without thinking, Cecil swings his arm at her. She is out of reach, of course, but it does nothing to stop him from straining at the chains. Now that his mind is clear he rises to his feet with ease. There are no words to express the threats he his chanting in his mind, most of them in languages she couldn’t understand. In the face of his fury, she laughs and pulls up the hood.

Carlos stares up at him with wide eyes.

Bright light rises from Cecil’s skin, lighting the inside of his jumpsuit.

“Cecil,” he begins, only to receive a firm smack with Dr. Moore’s clipboard.

“Arenas, you will keep your mouth shut,” she snaps. “You brought this on yourself.”

She leaves without another word. As she joins the other staff members in their observation room, the chains fall from the orange-suited men. Cecil didn’t notice the clubs before. They approach without pause, ignoring both his frantic begging and Carlos’s. He knows that between the two they sound only like terrified madmen, but anyone with a soul would stop for pleas so desperate.

None of them do.

It would be wrong to say time freezes. Nothing stops, no matter how loud the screams become. Everything simply slows so that he can see it all. The first few impacts only bring loud groans of pain, but they quickly color the cold floor with blood. With every cough, every gagging breath from Carlos’s perfect, stupid lips, Cecil strains harder against his chains. They bite into his wrists a and twist his shoulders until he can’t move another inch without pulling himself apart.

“Cecil...” Carlos moans softly, reaching for him.

A foot falls on his hand, drawing out a pained cry. Cecil echoes it and feels a bulge in the back of his clothes. The tentacles writhe against the barrier. As fabric gives in to the pressure, the first orange jump suit adds his screams to the cacophony. Within moments, he falls to the floor a few feet away and screams through the blood that pours from his nose. Another man turns to face Cecil and finds himself suffocating with a dark appendage tight around his throat.

For an instant the world tilts. Once his feet find the floor, Cecil is able to identify the broken chains hanging from his reddened wrists. Anyone who tries running from him doesn’t make it another two feet. Two of them slam together, bodies thrown through the air, and another is tripped. One by one, he takes them out. They won’t be able to rise until long after Carlos is safe, if ever.

Carlos.

His eyes flutter and blood pours down his face from a cut on his forehead. There is more blood smeared over his lips, but Cecil is not worried about the injuries that he can see. He has no choice. Carlos has enough consciousness left to hold on when Cecil lifts him, brandishing his glowing tentacles like a weapon and walking like a god. Alarms wail all around him telling him the building will lock down.

Just as he clears the door, a thick metal wall crashes over it. Cecil can’t help but chuckle. They intended to trap him inside and continue to force him to play prisoner. Sunlight sears his eyes, but he stumbles forward.

“Cecil!” a familiar voice calls.

“Camilla,” he breathes and the tentacles readjust themselves to the noise.

“I’m here to help! Get into the back, please,” she begs.

As his vision comes into focus, he can see her sitting a large black van. It is not a friendly color, not anymore. Here to help in a place that has kept him locked away for so long. What sort of a plea is that?

“He’s hurt, Cecil, please! We have to get back to Night Vale!”

Night Vale? Home. He wants to go home. She is out of the car now and he can see that she has stripped off her uniform shirt, leaving only a white tanktop. With her help, he eases himself into the back of the van and cradles Carlos in his arms.

Cecil never knows how she convinces the guards to let them pass. He is too focused on the man groaning and blinking up at him. Words of comfort pour out of him to the face below, not all of them in English. Somehow Carlos is still smiling. While Cecil grips the hand that wasn’t crushed under a boot and wipes the blood away from his mouth, Carlos just smiles up at him.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” he repeats slowly, shaking with coughs that bring up more blood. “Even if it kills me.”

That smile doesn’t fade until they reach his town again. Sirens raise as the police race along their side to the hospital. With one last flicker, Carlos’s eyes slide closed. Strong arms tear him away from Cecil, settling the scientist’s limp body on a gurney. There is a second sitting outside the van’s doors, but Cecil hides away and screams. A needle pricks his arm and the world fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta this time was the lovely [Jamie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blatantlyqueer). If you have anything to say, I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments. I'll see you all at the epilogue and thank you again for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I really appreciate feedback, so feel free to comment. Eli and Nadiya were the wonderful beta readers for this chapter. I hope to see you again next Thursday!


End file.
